The Price of True Love
by padfoot's prose
Summary: Blaine dropped his voice even lower, humiliated and distressed, utterly devastated by what he'd unwittingly done. "Kurt," he said, "I charged them full price!"


**An epically long oneshot, which is also AU, and is also inspired by true events. So if that doesn't tempt you to read on, I don't know what will!**

**Basically, in this universe, everything is the same, except that Klaine never met. Finn is alive, Kurt and Blaine are both in NY, and I don't think any other canon details are particularly relevant. Also Blaine speaks Italian, because why on earth not?**

* * *

**_The Price of True Love_**

_by padfoot_

...

"Look at this, Burt! Oh, it's gorgeous."

Blaine looked up at the sound of a woman's voice. He was pricing mugs decorated with pastel-hued photos of various spring flowers – a job apparently engaging enough for him not to have heard these new customers come into the shop.

The woman who'd spoken was short with a brunette bob, and she was admiring a scarf with Azaleas printed on it. The man beside her – Burt, if Blaine recalled correctly – was wearing a baseball cap and a flannel shirt, looking distinctly out of place among the floral-scented soaps and manicure kits of the New York Botanic Gardens gift shop. Nonetheless, he was nodding seriously at the scarf, and muttering something that sounded positive. Blaine grinned to himself at the sight. He'd seen stranger people won over by the charms of the gardens, and it was a nice change to be able to just let them be in the comfortable silence without his supervisor chatting away about her daughter's latest boyfriend drama.

"Woah, Mum – this is so cool!"

Surprised at the sound of another voice, Blaine scanned the shop, crowded with racks and shelves and baskets of souvenirs and saw a head of hair above a stand of waterproof jackets. The man must have been at least seven feet tall, a fact quickly confirmed when he moved over to where the couple were standing, brandishing a small black item.

"That one's a pocket knife," Blaine called over, the three people's eyes turning on him. He nodded towards the item in the younger man's hand.

"Yeah," the man said, "It's got a torch too, and a pen!"

"And a pair of scissors," Blaine added. "And I think there's a bottle opener there too. All on a handy key ring!"

He said the last bit in a sing-song voice self-conscious of how rehearsed it sounded. He did, after all, explain the features of that particular souvenir at least three times a day, and there was simply no way to make it sound different every time.

"How much is it?" the man in the baseball cap asked.

"Seven-fifty. But if you bought something at the café you should've got a discount voucher with your receipt, so I can take ten percent off for you."

Burt had taken the pocket knife from the seven-foot-tall man and was looking it over with raised eyebrows. His wife was still admiring the scarf, but she seemed to have found a stain on one of the corners and was rubbing at it with a frown.

"I can get a new scarf for you, if you want," Blaine called over to her, "That one's just a display – based on the number of kids with ice creams who've touched it, I don't think I could sell it to you without facing legal ramifications."

The woman looked at him, her expression uncertain. But Blaine had his punchline ready, and with a grin he added, "It's a crime against fashion to sell anyone stained silk."

She laughed and hung the scarf back up on its hook, approaching Blaine at the counter as he ducked down to fish a new scarf out of the cupboard behind him. He found the right one and turned to see that the whole family had come over, the two men still puzzling over the pocket knife.

"So it is silk?" the woman asked, taking the new scarf that Blaine offered her.

"One hundred percent Thai silk," Blaine said, "We try to source as many of the products locally as we can, but there's just no option for that quality at this price unless you get it from overseas."

"I suppose," the woman nodded, "And besides, I suppose gardens like these are all about celebrating variety."

"Exactly! It's diversity that makes this place so beautiful. So it makes sense for us to extend that to the gift shop." Blaine laughed, "Man – that is a good line! I should remember to say that to all the customers here."

The woman laughed too, her two companions finally looking up from the pocket knife.

"You get a lot of people having a go at you about things not being local?" the older man asked.

His voice was sharper than Blaine expected it to be, intelligent and shrewd. It was a very stark contrast to the baseball cap and flannel.

Blaine shrugged, "Not really. I think sometimes people are just having a bad day at the gardens, and I happen to be the only person around for them to complain to."

"You work alone a lot?"

"Oh, no. My supervisor's usually here too – she's just out on her lunch break right now."

The man grunted in response.

"Not like my son, then," he said, "Poor kid is always working alone, cooped up in that tiny office. Did you see how small that office was?! Don't know how he breathes in there, let alone getting work done…"

The latter half was directed at the woman, who looked up at the man with a consoling expression. Clearly this was a common topic of conversation between them. Blaine, for his part, was puzzled, glancing between the couple and the tall man who was with them, wondering why – if he was the son in question – he wasn't saying anything on defence of his workspace.

"Burt's son works for a magazine," the woman explained, "but he's only an intern, so he doesn't get much space to himself. We just visited him there this morning."

"Right," Blaine nodded, "I know how it can be. My boyfriend has an intern job now, and it's really tough. His hours are mad, and he gets so little time to himself. Makes me realise how lucky I am to be able to chill out here on the days I'm not studying."

"I can't imagine being stuck inside all day though," the younger man piped up, "I mean, what do you do if you just wanna go for a walk or something?"

The question seemed genuine, but Blaine and the woman both smiled at it.

"I work in the New York Botanic Gardens," Blaine pointed out, "I don't tend to have trouble finding nice places to walk in."

The woman laughed again, shooting an affectionate look at her two companions.

"You'll have to excuse my boys. The city just feels so crowded to us! We're small town people – well, Burt and Finn are, at least. Even I find the city a bit hectic after a while!"

"How long are you visiting for?"

"Two weeks," Burt said, "Leaving the day after tomorrow. Can we get two of these?"

He handed the pocket knife the Blaine, who chirped out an affirmative and moved away to fetch a second one. Burt was talking to his wife again, while the younger man – Finn, a stepson? – stared vacantly up at the exposed rafters in the gift shop's ceiling. Blaine started ringing up the purchases at the ancient till, only interrupting the family's conversation to ask if they had café receipt so he could apply the discount. They didn't, so he charged them full price, but took special care in bagging the pocket knives and gift-wrapping the scarf before handing them over to the woman. She thanked him with another smile.

"Hope you have a good last few days in New York," Blaine called out as the family turned away.

Burt, the last of them to pass through the door, gave a friendly wave in farewell.

Blaine stood for a moment in the silence of the little gift shop. The scarf that the woman had picked up was hanging off the wrong hook, and someone had moved all the novelty pens around into the wrong containers. But with the light smell of frangipani soap in the air and acorn-shaped wind chimes tinkling in the corner, Blaine couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed. With a smile, he stepped out from behind the counter and went about to tidy up the shop once more. He was still smiling when the next customers came in – this time two women with a small herd of children – and he happily directed them to the ice creams and the toilets, with a joking recommendation that they not mix the two up.

…

It was just getting dark when Blaine left, walking to the edge of the gardens with his supervisor and then waving goodbye to her and pulling out his phone as she headed for her car. He'd gotten a text from Kurt sometime in the afternoon, but had been too busy juggling the six bottles of water that a harried group of British tourists had wanted to check the message then, and had forgotten about it until now.

_Urgh. Jan just asked me to do a mock up for the Valentino story on page 22 by tonight. Meet you at the restaurant? I won't have time to go home first :(_

Checking his watch, Blaine figured that Kurt should be out of the office by now, and pressed the icon to call him. Kurt answered after two rings.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!"

"I was just about to say the same thing," Blaine laughed, "I only just got out of work."

"Did Bethany keep you back with more stories of Anna's ex-con ex. Ooh, did he get pulled over by the cops again and taken in to be a part of a line up?"

"The ex-ex-con is out of the picture now, remember? He had to run away to Canada in very suspicious circumstances. I think Bethany actually drove him to the border… but anyway, no, it wasn't her fault this time. We were just really busy."

"Trouble in paradise?" Kurt teased. "What does a busy day at a gift shop look like anyway? Not enough tea towels to go around?"

"I'll have you know that the infamous tea towel shortage of '09 is no joke around here. You've clearly never seen two old ladies play tug-of-war over the last Oscar de la Renta linen set. I thought one of them was going to break a hip!"

"New York's senior citizens are tough though," Kurt said, a shrug evident in his tone, "_I'm_ more likely to break a hip than most of the old ladies I see around here."

"But you are almost twenty-five," Blaine said, "I mean, aren't you practically a senior citizen now?"

Kurt sounded scandalised at the mere suggestion, and Blaine made no effort to hide his satisfaction at the jibe. The year and five months that Kurt had over Blaine were a long-running joke between the two of them, and the teasing sustained Blaine for the whole walk to the subway. He had to hang up before heading down into the sparsely populated station, chatting to the ticket seller like he did every day after work before plugging in his iPod and hunkering down to wait for the train.

On the phone, he and Kurt had decided that Kurt would call the restaurant about their booking and see if he could push it back half an hour. Blaine's flat was closer to _Casa Bella_, so Kurt could duck by there and at least fix up his hair and change into a clean shirt if he wanted. Blaine was pretty sure that lilac shirt of Kurt's that he liked so much was still in his cupboard.

Marco, the regular waiter, greeted Blaine with enthusiasm when he arrived at _Casa Bella_ a few minutes later.

"You want the usual table?" he asked.

"Always!" Blaine replied, switching to Italian to ask, "_Come stai_?"

"Not as good as you!" Marco answered, sticking to English, "Two visits in one week – you must have got a bonus at work!"

"Two visits?" Blaine asked.

Marco must have picked up on Blaine's perplexed look because he quickly amended, "Ah, no. It was Kurt who was here a few nights ago – with his family, I think."

"Yeah," Blaine nodded, "they were meant to be visiting last week."

"This week," Marco insisted.

Blaine shrugged, quite sure that Kurt's family was only around for a week, but said a placatory, "If you say so," in reply.

Kurt arrived only a few minutes later, looking more as if he'd just stepped off a page of Vogue than out of a long day at its offices.

"That's not your shirt," Blaine said by way of a greeting, standing up to wrap Kurt up in a hug, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. He kept his hands on Kurt's arms, stepping back to admire the way his own familiar dark blue pullover stretched over his boyfriend's chest.

"I thought this would be comfier," Kurt shrugged, "Believe it or not, I'm starting to get sick of wearing my best clothes every day. I found myself daydreaming about yoga pants this afternoon."

Letting Kurt go so they could both sit down at the table, Blaine faked a gasp of shock.

"Don't let anyone at Vogue hear you say that!" he joked, and Kurt laughed as Blaine looked around conspiratorially, as if expecting Isabelle Wright to be lurking behind a menu in the corner. "But for the record," Blaine added, "I daydream about you in yoga pants all the time."

Two patches of pink lit up high on Kurt's cheeks, and Blaine grinned, unbelievably happy that he could still make Kurt blush.

They'd been dating for close to six months now, having met by chance at a karaoke night at a bar. Blaine remembered how the two of them had gotten talking, remembered being amazed at finally finding someone who was exciting and witty and ridiculously handsome, someone who he didn't have to fake an interest in when they talked about their jobs. After exchanging numbers, and watching Kurt leave with a girl friend, he'd waited all of two minutes before texting him (_Knock-off-Louis-Vuitton-shirt-guy is singing One Direction. Not sure whether to laugh or cry. Why did you leave me here?!_) and then all of thirty seconds to get a reply (_Cry. Leave. We're having coffee less than two blocks away – want to join us?_). On the same night the two of them had ended up on a spontaneous first date, laughing over coffee and forgetting about Kurt's friend entirely until she awkwardly offered to walk herself home.

And now they were here. Almost six months in and stupidly in love, Blaine was still perpetually in awe that this beautiful man was his. The feeling was only amplified by the surprise of Kurt having arrived wearing one of Blaine's shirts, which Blaine hadn't even known was a _thing_ for him until now. That, combined with the fact that they hadn't been able to properly hang out in more than a week because of Kurt's family visiting had Blaine more than a little eager for dinner to be over.

"Hey, so was your family visiting this week or last week?" Blaine asked as he finished off a third slice of pizza, pushing the platter towards Kurt.

Kurt picked up a slim slice and started picking off the olives, leaving them on the platter where Blaine could scoop them up and eat them.

"Both," Kurt answered, "Dad's friend ended up being able to look after the garage for two weeks instead of one, so Carole decided to make a holiday of it. I brought them here the other night actually. My stepbrother went mad for the spaghetti bolognese. I don't think any other place has ever offered a serving so big he couldn't finish it."

"Yeah, Marco mentioned you were here. I thought they'd already gone home by then, so I was a bit confused."

There was a moment of silence as Kurt bit into his now olive-free piece of pizza. Blaine sipped on his sparkling water, looking down at the table.

"Dad wants to meet you, you know," Kurt said.

Blaine glanced up, meeting Kurt's eyes and seeing the tension in his gaze.

"Oh," he said.

Kurt smiled thinly, nervous, confirming Blaine's suspicion that this was sort of a big deal.

He knew Kurt was close to his dad. After his mother had died when he was eight, Kurt had really only had his father around, and they'd gone through everything together. Blaine had always been eager to listen to Kurt talk about his relationship with his father – the ease between them, and the obvious love made him not exactly jealous, but more like upset about his own relationship with his father. It was incredible and unfamiliar to hear a story of a father being staunchly supportive of his gay son. And yet Kurt's father sounded like a real inspiration, the main source of Kurt's amazing strength and bravery.

"Do _you_ want me to meet him?" Blaine finally asked.

"I do," Kurt nodded, "I mean, I do if you do. I don't want to rush things or anything, but-"

His hesitation was at the same time endearing and terrifying. Blaine adored the vulnerability of Kurt in this moment, but he too felt the size of this as a point in their relationship. He'd never met a boyfriend's parents before, not in this sort of official way, at least.

"-but I love you a lot. And it means a lot – it means everything, actually – that my Dad loves you too."

"No pressure," Blaine muttered under his breath, and Kurt smiled.

The word love was not new to them – Blaine had known he'd been in love practically from day one, and once they'd started having sex he'd really just had no ability to restrain himself from saying it (like, all the time). But outside of their intimate moments, they didn't throw the word around a whole lot, conscious that, beyond the next year or so, they really didn't have plans, let alone a capital-p Plan that they'd come up with together.

"My Dad's not scary, I promise," Kurt said, "He's just a baseball-cap-wearing, trainers-with-jeans mechanic from small-town Ohio. And Carole is lovely, so I swear you don't have to be worried. I thought we could meet for lunch or something tomorrow – at the gardens maybe? You're just working in the morning, right?"

"Lunch tomorrow sounds good," Blaine nodded, "But if we're going to the garden café you can't hold it against me if everyone keeps coming up and saying hello. I'm sort of famous over there."

Kurt laughed.

"All right. I promise not to get jealous of all the old ladies who want to charm you into selling them discounted flower pots."

"I'll have you know that our flower pots are very popular! And a staff discount would not go astray if you were into buying that sort of thing."

"Oh, be still my heart," Kurt teased, "You know what it does to me when you talk botanical."

…

They went back to Blaine's place after dinner, walking home in the warm summer air, holding hands and letting them swing between them. Kurt took out his key for Blaine's place while they were still in the elevator, and so Blaine took the chance to drop his head to Kurt's shoulder as he fiddled to unlock the apartment door. He kissed Kurt's warm skin through the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling a spike in the heat that had been simmering in his belly all through dinner. Kurt chuckled as Blaine pushed him through the door, pressing his body along the length of Kurt's back, inhaling the scent of his own washing powder where it mingled with Kurt's cologne at his neck.

"Is your Dad expecting you to visit tonight?" Blaine asked, his voice low, his hands moving up to sit on Kurt's hips, holding him in place from behind.

"No," Kurt replied with a shake of his head. "Apparently Carole had him and Finn walking around all day today, so they're thoroughly exhausted. Also much too tired to drop by my place as a surprise."

The name 'Finn' set off a vague warning light in Blaine's head, but he couldn't place it, and Kurt was turning around in his arms now, trailing his hands up Blaine's chest, fingers lingering on the top button of his shirt.

"That's lucky," Blaine murmured, "What do you think would happen if your Dad found out you weren't staying at your own place tonight?"

"He'd probably get out his shotgun," Kurt shrugged.

Blaine pulled back, horrified, and Kurt laughed.

"I'm kidding," he cooed, leaning in to tempt Blaine closer again, "Dad wouldn't bring his shotgun with him all the way to New York."

Blaine sighed in relief, moving to press his lips to Kurt's neck, crazy for the smell of his clothes on Kurt's skin.

"I mean, this far from home, I imagine Dad would just use a baseball bat or something. More portable, you know?"

Blaine choked out another terrified noise but Kurt just grinned, pulling Blaine up to silence him with a kiss.

…

Dragging himself out of bed was always a chore for Blaine, but the next morning was a particular challenge. It didn't help that he and Kurt hadn't shared a bed for almost two weeks, Kurt having enforced a 'no sleepovers' rule while there was the threat of his Dad just popping by for a late night (or early morning) visit. A little ball of anxiety about meeting Kurt's family had also begun to build in Blaine stomach, and when a glint of sunlight shining through the badly-drawn curtains awoke him, he wanted nothing more but to roll back over and lose himself in Kurt's warmth.

"Are you awake?" he whispered, and Kurt let out a quiet noise in reply. "I don't know what that means," Blaine chuckled, crawling closer to look down at Kurt's face.

"You should wake me up properly," Kurt mumbled, his eyes still closed.

Blaine grinned, lifting an arm to drape it across Kurt's naked chest, running his hand down the swath of soft skin to rest his palm low on Kurt's hip. Kurt smiled sleepily in response.

"Have to do more than that," he said.

Grinning wider now, Blaine let his hand trail lower, watching Kurt's face for the moment when he tensed, feeling Blaine's touch against him.

"Your hand's cold," Kurt whined.

"That can be fixed," Blaine said, and he ducked his head down to burrow under the covers.

Even through the layers of blankets and sheets, he heard Kurt's blissful groan as he replaced his hand with his mouth. And oh, Blaine thought, what a marvellous time to be alive.

…

Blaine was checking in a box of puppets at work when the sounds of conversation made him look over to the door. A familiar family was coming into the shop, the woman who'd bought the scarf yesterday (and was now wearing that very scarf proudly, even though the weather was strictly speaking too hot) gave Blaine a smile as her husband and seven-foot-tall son followed her inside. A second later, Kurt came in as well, making a beeline for Blaine as the family turned to absently browse in the shop.

"Hey," Kurt greeted, his voice low and relaxed. Blaine glanced nervously around for Kurt's father before leaning over the counter to kiss him hello. "You ready to go?"

"Yep. Just need to let Bethany know I'm heading off."

"That pocketknife was really good, you know," the young man said from the other side of the shop, looking over at Blaine as he headed towards the staff exit.

"I'm glad you liked it," Blaine said with a smile.

"Yeah, I used it to open a beer from the minibar and everything. It was great!"

"You took a beer from the minibar? Geez, Finn, do you have idea what the mark-up is on them?"

Blaine heard the first part of Kurt's comment from outside, where he was motioning to a madly-texting Bethany that he was leaving. He had only just stepped back inside when he heard the last part, and it only took one startled glance between Kurt and the tall man – _Finn_ – for that stupid flashing warning light in his mind suddenly made perfect sense.

"You ready to go, Kurt?" the older man asked.

_Burt_, Blaine remembered, the horror now truly setting in. He'd known Kurt's dad's name was Burt. He'd known that his step-brother was Finn, known that his step-mother was Carole, but somehow yesterday the connection just hadn't clicked.

"Um, I thought I might bring Blaine with me, if that's all right with you. Seeing as this whole lunch is about you guys getting introduced."

Kurt's tone was sarcastic and Blaine didn't know his horror could be amplified any more until he realised that of course Kurt had _no idea_.

For a moment everyone in the room was looking around in confusion. And then Burt and Carole's eyes settled on Blaine, standing just in front of the counter, wide-eyed and shocked like a deer caught in headlights. And then Kurt followed his father's gaze, and glanced with furrowed eyebrows between him and Blaine. And then Finn said, "Wait, the gift shop guy is _Blaine_? Like, _your_ Blaine?" and the awful awkwardness of it all settled in properly.

"You've already met," Kurt said, and finally his expression was beginning to approach Blaine's level of utter mortification.

Carole nodded mutely. She was biting her lip, and Blaine had the distinct feeling she was holding back a smile.

"Have you left yet, Blaine?" Bethany called from outside. "Because I just want to wish you lucky meeting your boyfriend's scary da-"

She broke off, and without looking Blaine knew she was behind him, staring at the awkward scene in the shop.

Suddenly brusque and professional, she pushed past Blaine to start organising a rack of t-shirts.

"Hi, Kurt," she said brightly as she passed him. "How are things?"

"Fine , thank you," he replied, the words obviously automatic. Then, with effort, he tore his eyes away from Blaine and his father and looked at Bethany.

"How's Anna?" he asked.

"Oh, you know Anna." Bethany rolled her eyes, and gave one t-shirt a particularly aggressive shake to get a crease out of its side, "That Barry fellow – the personal trainer – is around again, and I just don't know what to think. With her still a few years away from joining the workforce I don't know if he can sustain them. It's not a very stable job is it, personal training?"

"Not like working at a gift shop," Burt muttered, his eyes on Blaine.

Blaine felt his whole face turn bright red. He quickly dropped his gaze to the ground.

"Exactly!" Bethany said, clearly missing the malice that Blaine was so sure was disguised in Burt's voice, "The tourism industry in New York will always be a safe one to work in."

"Exactly, Dad," Kurt echoed smartly, and he marched over to grab Blaine's hand, dragging him towards the exit. "Come on. It's time for lunch."

Carole gave Bethany a wave as Kurt led the way out, dragging a shell-shocked Blaine alongside him. Once they were outside, and Blaine felt like he could more or less breathe again, he risked a glance back at Burt, who was still eyeing him distrustfully. Blaine didn't know how, but he was sure that Burt knew exactly how he'd woken up Kurt this morning. He quickly looked away again.

And then a worse thought came to him.

"Kurt," he whispered, his distress clear in his tone.

Kurt was being stubbornly calm, but obviously Blaine's tension was catching because Kurt's lips were pressed tightly together as he replied with a close-mouthed, "Hmm?"

"I can't believe what I did. Yesterday, when I met your parents, but I didn't know and-"

Blaine broke off, scandalised at his own monstrous error.

He dropped his voice even more, humiliated and distressed, utterly devastated by what he'd unwittingly done.

"Kurt," he said, "They bought things from the shop and I- I charged them full price!"


End file.
